


Together

by November Snowflake (novembersnow)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: pornish_pixies, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ron," Harry said. "Come here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 31, 2004.
> 
> Written for Anna V. Tree in the Pornish Pixies Fantasy Fest. Prompt: _Harry/Ron/Hermione, post-Hogwarts, fucked up or dysfunctional._

The first time it happened, Ron wondered if maybe he'd had a little too much to drink that night. He blinked, closed his eyes, shook his head, and looked again, and Harry still sat on Ron's battered sofa, trousers undone, one hand lazily stroking his cock. Ron swallowed, and Harry looked at him out of half-closed eyes, an amused expression on his face. "Not like you've never seen it before," Harry murmured.

"Well," Ron said, "no, not exactly."

Harry's long, slow strokes continued as he shifted his hips against the worn cushions.

"Harry," Ron said tentatively. "Should you really be—you know—"

"Don't you like watching me, Ron?" Harry's hand moved deliberately up and down.

Ron swallowed again, unable to look away from the rhythmic movement of Harry's fist, the glimpse of the head, red and shining, the slight rocking of Harry's hips as he moved into his own strokes. "It's—I'm just not sure it's—"

"If you have such a problem with it," Harry said, voice low and hoarse with arousal, eyes closed, "why don't you come over here and stop me?"

"I didn't mean—" Ron hesitated when Harry's eyes opened, intent on his.

"Come here and stop me."

"No," Ron said, desperately now.

"Come here," Harry said again, a hint of annoyance in his tone. "Come over here, Ron."

Helpless, Ron moved forward and stood in front of Harry, whose hand had stopped its hypnotic movements. He stared at Harry, unsure of what to do.

"On your knees," Harry whispered.

Ron started to tremble. "Harry—"

"On. Your. Knees."

Slowly Ron fell to his knees as Harry watched him, a glint of amusement in his eyes, an upward quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Harry," Ron whispered, staring fixedly at his best friend's chest, the nubby green of the jumper his mother had knitted.

"Touch me, Ron."

" _Harry_."

" _Ron_. Touch me."

Ron closed his eyes and placed a hand gingerly on Harry's knee, feeling the warmth, the thinness. Harry had never really come back to full strength after the Final Battle. The spell Harry cast that day had killed more than just Voldemort.

"Don't play games, Ron," Harry said, voice flat. "You know what I want."

Ron crept forward on his knees and watched his hand inch toward where Harry's cock rose, throbbing, from his open fly. He'd seen it before, of course he had, in the dorm, in the locker room after Quidditch. He'd even watched Harry wank before, when they'd lain next to each other on Ron's bed at the Burrow during lazy summer evenings and confessed their wildest fantasies, each jerking his own cock to fast, messy completion. But they'd never crossed the line to touch each other.

Ron felt his stomach twist as his fingers curled around the shaft, and Harry hissed, bucking his hips. "Move," he grunted, and Ron began a slow up-and-down slide, Harry's cock hot and alive under his fingers, the feel of another man's prick against his palm strange and disconcerting. Harry closed his eyes and began to pant, his face flushed with arousal, and Ron was ashamed to feel the start of a tingling in his lower belly. He tugged once, harder, and Harry groaned. "Fuck, Ron."

Ron kept his gaze focused on the movements of his hand.

"Your mouth," Harry said.

Ron stopped. "What?"

"Use your mouth."

"Harry, I—"

"Ron."

"Harry, please."

One dilated green eye cracked open. "Ron."

Breath beginning to hitch with fear and distaste and other things he preferred not to think about, Ron bent forward over Harry's lap, fist curled around Harry's cock, easing the foreskin below the reddened head, damp with fluid. He grimaced and opened his mouth, dragging his tongue along the slit, the taste salty and unpleasant. Harry grunted and twisted his fingers into Ron's hair, pressing his head down. The glans pressed against Ron's lips, and reluctantly he opened his mouth to permit its entrance. Harry moaned and thrust, and Ron choked and started to draw back.

"Don't," Harry said. "Don't do that." 

He pressed his fist harder against Ron's head, fingers curled tightly into his hair, and Ron felt the cock slide back into his mouth. Harry tugged him up again, pressed down, tugged, pressed, until Ron moved automatically into the rhythm.

"Tongue," Harry grunted, and Ron flicked his tongue against the underside of the head, slipping just under the foreskin. Harry began to move faster against him, and the pressure of the fingers in his hair became tighter, close to unbearable. 

"Suck it," Harry whispered, and Ron did, one hand braced against Harry's taut thigh, the other sliding up the base of Harry's cock in counterpoint with his mouth, colliding with his lips as he moved and sucked.

Harry gasped and bucked and grunted once, his cock jerking in Ron's mouth, filling it unexpectedly with a spurt of hot fluid. Ron tried to draw back, and Harry's fingers tightened further in his hair, holding him frozen over Harry's lap as he jerked again, and again, and again. At last the pulses slowed and Harry's grip relaxed as he sank more deeply into the cushions.

Ron rocked back on his heels, dragging his hand across his mouth, and Harry gave him a slow, satiated smile before he Disapparated, leaving Ron kneeling before an empty sofa, the bitter taste of Harry's come coating his tongue.

* * *

"Harry may never be quite the same," the Healer had begun as Ron and Hermione sat together in the hospital, hands clasped one over the other over the other as they waited to hear their friend's fate. He'd been unconscious since the fall of Voldemort—over a week before—and though he'd finally awakened, the Healers still were not allowing visitors.

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione demanded.

"I understand he was a relatively genial young man before the—recent events," the Healer said.

Ron and Hermione both nodded.

"Since he woke up, he's been very…difficult to control," the Healer said delicately, as if they hadn't already been able to hear the screaming. "He becomes violent if he thinks he's being threatened, and he seems to view anyone who disagrees with him or denies him anything as a threat. We've had to keep him restrained, as you know. We suspect the combination of the spell he used to kill You Know Who and the hexes the Death Eaters cast on him inflicted some sort of damage to his frontal lobe, causing mental—"

"Harry isn't mental!" Ron shouted, rising from his seat. Hermione grasped his arm and yanked him back down.

She gave the Healer a piercing look. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"He's exhibiting a marked lack of impulse control," he said. "We can't tell why. It's as if he doesn't remember anything about limits or propriety."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried glance. 

"Or," the Healer continued, "it's as if he simply doesn't care."

* * *

Later, in a dusty little tea shop up the street, Ron had clasped his large palms around the small cup and tried to absorb its warmth into skin gone dry and cold with dread.

"What can we do?" he asked, eyes on the swirl of liquid as the cup tilted in his hands.

He didn't need to see her face to know she was wrinkling her nose in thought, just like she always did. She was as afraid as he was, he knew, and this was not the first time he'd been grateful Hermione was not the sort to give in to hysterics in the face of fear.

"I don't think there's anything we _can_ do," she said, "except be there for him."

"If they release him."

"They will. They have to. He's otherwise healthy."

"But what if he takes it into his head to—I dunno—kill the Minister?" He looked up, eyes meeting hers. "Or anyone?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't think he will."

"How can you be sure, though?"

"I don't think Harry's been doing anything he wasn't already inclined to do. What would _you_ do if people were keeping you strapped down in a hospital?"

"I'd make them sorry they ever tried!"

"Exactly," she said, and that prim, smug tone was somehow more comforting than any soothing Healer's words, any fragrant swirl of tea. He gazed back into the cup, watching the shifting patterns of the leaves as they dipped and whirled, forming shape after shape after shape.

"Ron," she said, and leaned over to place a hand on his arm. "It'll be all right. We'll get through this together. You'll see." 

* * *

_Be there for him_ , Hermione had said, and that was exactly what Ron did, what they both did, until it became second nature to deny Harry nothing. Harry's escalating demands took their toll on each of them, and Ron could barely remember the last time he and Hermione had found time for a real date, or even a quick shag. They only seemed to talk about Harry anymore.

Somehow, though, he couldn't bring himself to tell her about the incident in his flat a fortnight ago. And though Harry watched him at times with a sly expression, even winked at him once or twice, nothing similar had happened since.

He let himself into Harry's flat, just like he always did on the afternoon of a Cannons match, but didn't find Harry waiting for him as usual. "Harry?" he called, and there was no answer other than a thump from down the hall. Fearing the onset of another tantrum like the ones that struck Harry every so often, Ron hastened down the hall to Harry's bedroom, and paused. When the thump was followed by a crash, he shoved open the door and found himself rooted to the floor in shock.

Two figures crouched on the bed, lunging into one another in a hard, brisk rhythm that rattled the frame. Harry's arse coiled and flexed as he thrust almost violently into the body beneath him, and Hermione's long, white arms grasped the headboard to keep her head from being driven forward into it. Harry's forehead pressed against her shoulder blade as he pumped ruthlessly into her.

The six-pack of butterbeer Ron still held in one hand crashed to the ground, and two flushed faces swung toward him, Hermione's blank, Harry's almost predatory. A slow, feral smile curled his lips. "Ron," he said easily, leaning back on his haunches and sliding out of Hermione, who held her crouch. Harry's cock rose red and wet and angry, his balls tight against the base. His chest heaved with his labored breaths, but it was with cool amusement that he extended a hand toward Ron. "Come here."

Ron licked his dry lips, but hesitated.

Harry's other hand molded the flesh of Hermione's arse, squeezing and caressing the curves that remained poised for his perusal, but his eyes never left Ron's. "Ron," he said. "Join us."

Ron took a step forward, then two, breath coming faster as he watched Harry stroke his fist lazily up his cock, once, twice. The hand caressing Hermione's bottom drew away, landing again with a sharp _smack_ that reverberated throughout her body. By the time Ron began to draw off his clothes, he was already hard. 

Harry's fingers trailed toward the crack of Hermione's arse and lower, between her legs, two fingers sliding into her body and causing her back to arch, her thighs to tense. Harry's cock jerked. So did Ron's. Harry withdrew his fingers and stroked them along her back, leaving a visibly damp trail. "Turn over," he murmured, and Hermione did so, hips shifting as she sought a comfortable position. Harry pressed his hands against the inside of her thighs and spread her legs to bend over her, tongue laving at her clit while she arched her hips and sighed, hands on her own breasts, thumbs stroking her tight nipples. Ron took his cock in one hand and squeezed, feeling dangerously close to coming already.

Harry lifted his face and leaned his head against one smooth inner thigh. His face was damp from his nose to his chin, and Ron squeezed his cock harder. "Ron," Harry said. "Come here."

Ron shuffled forward and hovered at the edge of the bed, hands at his sides, cock jerking helplessly before him. Harry licked his lips and rose to his knees, reaching one hand to touch the freckled planes of Ron's chest, the red hair that curled over tight muscles. When he tweaked one nipple, Ron shuddered. Harry crooked one finger at him, beckoning, and Ron bent forward, somehow unsurprised when Harry hooked a hand around the back of his neck and drew him close, tracing his tongue along Ron's lips, coaxing them open and feeding him the musky taste of Hermione. Ron's tongue slid into Harry's mouth, seeking hidden crevices, the flavor of _best friend_ overlaid with _girlfriend_.

Harry's mouth slid off of Ron's and pressed against his cheekbone, close to his ear. "I want you to eat my arse," he murmured, and when Ron would have jerked away, Harry's hand held tight to the back of his neck. "Put your tongue in my hole," he whispered, and stuck his tongue in Ron's ear. Ron's eyes crossed when Harry's other hand stole between his legs and two fingers pressed tight behind his balls. "Taste me," Harry breathed into his ear, and Ron could only nod.

Harry backed away, taking his teasing hand with him, and bent low over Hermione once again as she lifted her hips to give him easier access. Harry's arse rose expectantly, and Ron knelt on the bed behind him as if hypnotized. He traced one broad finger down Harry's spine, feeling the wiry body shudder beneath his touch, and trailed it slowly between the cheeks of Harry's arse, feeling them lift higher in invitation. He swallowed, glancing over Harry's body to watch Hermione, her eyes clenched tight, breasts rising and falling with her panting breaths as Harry licked and stroked her. Taking a breath, he sucked the tip of his finger into his mouth, then carefully began to prod at Harry's entrance, hearing Harry moan beneath him, noting how the resultant vibration made Hermione gasp with pleasure. 

Fascinated, Ron settled himself lower into the mattress and pressed his cheek against Harry, watching as Harry's hole twitched with the pressure. He licked once, tentatively, near where his finger continued to play, and Harry's hips bucked. More confident, Ron licked again, then again, sliding his hand away to better anchor Harry for his explorations. When his tongue breached Harry's entrance, Harry groaned, the sound muffled but still loud against Hermione's cunt. Ron flicked his tongue, his hands against Harry's arse, so large and coarse against pale skin, his thumbs stroking, spreading Harry wider. His tongue withdrew and snaked in again, plunging deeper. He began to grind his cock against the mattress.

Abruptly Harry rose again to his knees, and Ron sat up, resisting the urge to scrub the strange, bitter taste off his tongue. Hermione lay on her back, knees spread wide, a hand idly stroking one of her nipples as she looked at Ron out of half-closed eyes. She was flushed from head to toe.

" _Accio_ ," Harry said, hand stretched toward the nightstand, and a bottle of amber liquid slammed into his palm. He was panting as he turned to face Ron, his erection heavy, throbbing. "Fuck me," he said, and pressed the bottle into Ron's hand. "Fuck me, Ron." Then Harry turned away and slid between Hermione's still-open thighs, pressing his cock into her with one hard shove as she gasped and bucked against him, legs wrapping around his back as he began to ride her, arse pumping with quick, strong thrusts.

Ron watched helplessly, cock painfully hard and quivering, listening to Harry's grunts and Hermione's whimpers. "Harry," he choked, and Harry thrust hard, once, and held himself above Hermione, palms pressing against the mattress as she bucked against him. "Fuck me, Ron," he said again, eyes on Hermione. His arse clenched and released, resisting the urge to begin thrusting again, and Ron hastily unstoppered the bottle and slicked himself with the viscous liquid, coating his fingers and moving behind Harry, touching his fingers hesitantly to Harry's entrance, sliding one inside. Harry grunted. "Fuck me," he said. "Just _fuck_ me already!"

Ron withdrew his hand and grabbed Harry's immobile hip to anchor himself, nudging the head of his cock against Harry's entrance. Harry grunted again and shifted backward, and Ron felt himself begin to slide into dense heat and pressure, moving forward, inching back, and sliding farther, over and over. Harry made a strangled sound, but held still, trembling with the effort. When Ron was entirely sheathed inside Harry's tight arse, the pressure more intense than he ever could have imagined, he held himself flush against Harry's narrow back, feeling the tension in every muscle. He pressed his nose to Harry's shoulder, breathing the smell of him, sex and sweat and something indefinably Harry, comforting and long familiar. He met Hermione's gaze over Harry's shoulder, and she gave him a slow smile that turned into a gasp when Harry suddenly began to thrust again.

When Harry's arse began to slide off of him, it was all Ron could do not to yelp with the intensity of the sensation against his cock—so tight, so hot, the muscles clenching with Harry's thrust so that Ron almost wanted to scream with the pleasure and the agony of it. His fingers tightened on Harry's hips and he bucked forward as Harry thrust backward, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from Harry. They found a clumsy initial rhythm as Ron braced his knees for better balance, hooking his arms under Harry's shoulders and pressing his forehead against Harry's back as he focused on catching the rhythm, moving smoothly into Harry as he withdrew from Hermione, angling his hips until his cock brushed something inside of Harry that made Harry gasp and begin to buck harder between the two of them.

Ron closed his eyes and felt the heat of Harry's skin against him, the pressure building in his balls as he stroked hard and fast in and out of Harry, listened to the sound of Harry's pants and Hermione's moans and his own involuntary grunts as they galloped toward climax.

Hermione hit first, arching below them and keening, her hands scrabbling for purchase and latching onto Ron as she rode out her orgasm, bucking hard against Harry. He shouted with sudden release as he thrust hard into Hermione once, again, again, his arse clamping around Ron's cock with the rhythm of his ejaculation, and Ron felt himself tumble over the precipice with him, balls tightening sharply as he felt as if he would come forever.

Afterward, they collapsed, still locked around and inside one another.

The room's stillness was imperfect only through the slowing rasp of their breathing, and Ron could hear Harry's low, agonized whisper against Hermione's neck.

"Why do you let me do this?"

She stroked a hand through his hair, messy as it ever was when he was a child, and met Ron's gaze over Harry's shuddering shoulder. "Because," she said, "this is how we do things. Together."


End file.
